


I want to wake up in Amsterdam (The Golden Age Remix)

by glim



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: 17th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Reincarnation, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wasn't here to talk to Englishmen abroad or to get himself lost in winding roads or conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to wake up in Amsterdam (The Golden Age Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [significantowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Amsterdam](https://archiveofourown.org/works/108536) by [significantowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl). 



"Good morning."

Arthur lowered the sheaf of papers in front of his face slightly, just enough to peer over the edge at whomever was trying to strike up a conversation with him. He'd been attempting to breakfast quietly – his stay in Amsterdam would only last long enough for him to take care of his father's business with the Dutch East India Company. The sooner he finished that assigned task, the sooner he'd be able to get out and explore the sights.

"Good morning," Arthur muttered and raised the papers once more. He'd been told there was another Englishman staying at the house, but he assumed that since he was staying with friends of his family, the other man would be one like his father. A man of business, a gentleman, a guild member. A private sort of man. A _quiet_ one.

"Are you here on business? Most people who come to – "

"Yes. Yes, I am. And if it pleases you, I'd like to get through some of my day's work."

"Oh. Right. Sure." The man remained silent for a moment, before Arthur heard him lean closer and say, "Though, you know, if you're in Amsterdam, you ought to do something aside from visit the Bourse."

"I do have plans to see the city." Arthur didn't look up this time. He wasn't here to talk to Englishmen abroad or to get himself lost in winding roads or meandering conversations.

"If you wanted, I could probably show you around."

"Who are you and why are you wittering at me so?" Arthur demanded and set his papers down on the table. Damn but he ought to have kept the ones in Dutch out for the other man to see and let him assume Arthur was a Dutchman. "Do you not have any of your own business to see to this morning?"

"I'm Merlin," the man replied. He offered an encouraging smile that made him look a bit mad.

Arthur blinked. "Yes, and…?"

Merlin's face fell, but he recollected himself quickly. "My uncle is the Lord Emrys. You know, the one whose house you're staying at right now."

Arthur just groaned. He ought to have known. Merlin was dressed in the style of the English court, with his doublet done up tight over his chest, the sleeves slashed out to show the soft, dove grey lining beneath the heavy, deep blue material. His clothes were quite simple otherwise, and he wore no ruff, though delicate lace edged the sleeves of his linen shirt, touching his fine, slim wrists.

Arthur's breath caught, silently, as he watched Merlin start to rearrange and stack up his correspondence. He knew he ought to stop Merlin, and he eventually he did, but only after he'd thought about what Merlin's hands would feel like moving over his own skin instead of over dry parchment.

*

Somehow, before he realized what was happening, Arthur ended up with Merlin in tow as he headed towards the Stock Exchange to meet with Father's associates. Oddly enough, Merlin remained silent the whole time, at least until he hauled Arthur back out into the street.

"That isn't you," he muttered and glanced back towards the Bourse.

"There's nothing wrong with a merchant's life. This whole city survives because of men like my father who've built their own livelihood."

"I didn't mean… Arthur, no." Merlin's face drew into a tight frown.

"It might be easy for you to say that, your family's probably been landed for generations. You've probably already traveled the continent whereas I'm fortunate to have been sent here on business."

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin said again, and something in Arthur's chest eased at the gentle tone of his voice. "Of course there's nothing wrong with trade. If you enjoy the business, that is."

Arthur frowned this time. "It has nothing to do with enjoyment. It's my duty to my father, and my family."

"Of course." Merlin's voice softened even further and for a moment, Arthur thought he might touch the side of Arthur's face. Instead, he brushed the back of his hand against Arthur's and suggested they walk through the city. "I just… I know you."

"You really do not."

"I do," Merlin said, and stroked his fingertips over the back of Arthur's wrist before moving away. "In ways I fear you'll never be able to guess."

Arthur pretended not to be disappointed and consoled himself with the knowledge that Merlin's hand, for that brief moment, had felt warm and strong against his own.

*

Merlin dragged him to the flower market, where he spent florins and florins on tulip bulbs. Arthur laughed at him, told him he was just as manic about the flowers as the rest of the city, and Merlin just handed him packages, claiming he'd bought half of them for Arthur and half for his mother.

"Take them back to England. You'll be returning long before I do. Give them to your…" Merlin paused and the sentence remained unfinished. "You have a sister, don't you? Perhaps she'll like them. Or keep then for yourself. To remember."

"I do. And perhaps she will." Arthur glanced away from Merlin and at the crowd of people in the market. "Or perhaps I will keep them for myself."

"So you can remember," Merlin repeated and his face took on a pale, tight expression.

"I won't forget these days."

"I know," Merlin said. He kept the bulbs for the white tulips for himself, and Arthur wished, in that moment, he knew Merlin the way that Merlin claimed to know him.

*

Years later, Arthur will have a riot of colored tulips in his London home, and he'll remember the flower market in Amsterdam when it was at its peak, though he'll have seen the other cities of Europe by that point. He'll remember the Dam and the great stock exchange that he saw for the first time with a strange young man who had a soft voice and strong hands, who knew painters and sculptors and architects, and who still chose to spend the better part of a week with Arthur.

He'll remember Merlin best, and how he pulled Arthur through unfamiliar streets until they were both drunk on foreign wine and it felt as if the world would spin away from their tenuous grip on it out into the stars.

He'll remember how suddenly and desperately he wanted Merlin to touch him, and how, late that same night, Merlin slipped into his rooms, candlelight flickering off his pale skin. How he drew Arthur out of his doublet and hose, how he pressed his mouth to Arthur's and twined his arms around Arthur's shoulders. He'll remember how Merlin was the first man who came to know him thus, how their bodies moved against each other, and how Merlin muffled a tiny, helpless cry into Arthur's shoulder as he trembled with pleasure.

Arthur will remember how blue Merlin's eyes looked the morning before Arthur left to sail back to England, as they drifted awake before dawn, and the brittle light crept around the edges of the window; how he kissed Arthur and told Arthur that they'd see each other again soon; how the sun framed the clouds in gold as Merlin reminded Arthur what he wasn't allowed to forget.

He'll remember those words and he'll wait until he wakes again with Merlin at his side.


End file.
